Page 200 of Teacher's Pet

But the truth settles over me like a weight I don’t want to carry.

What if he doesn’t know? What if he hasn’t put that I left my phone behind, that I’m out here, fighting for my life?

Or worse.

What if he’s still at the party?

Oblivious.

Out here, there is no Noah. No savior. No hope. Just Cole. Prowling. Hunting. Waiting for the moment he can steal my final breath.

His blood slicks the back of my neck, hot and sticky, dripping from the wound in his thigh. The knife presses firmer against my throat, the cold edge biting into my skin. A slow, deliberate pressure. A warning. A promise. My pulse hammers against the blade, a silent plea for mercy that I know will go unanswered.

Cole leans in, his breath searing against my ear, laced with the scent of copper and sweat. His voice is a rasping taunt, cruel and intimate.

“It’s just me and you, Anastasia,” he growls, twisting his fingers deeper into my hair, wrenching my head back so I’m forced to look at the sky.

My breath comes in shallow bursts, my body trembling, but not from the cold. From the memory. The nightmare replaying itself in vivid clarity.

“Just like before,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear, making my stomach turn. “Just like that night.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop his words from slicing through me.

“No Noah to protect you.” His grip tightens, his nails digging into my scalp. “No one to hear you scream as I cut that throat-”

“No one to hear you die,” I whisper, the words slipping from my lips like a vow.

His grip falters for half a second...just enough.

With a sharp inhale, I jab my fingers into the gaping wound on his thigh. Hard.

Cole howls, his entire body jerking. My fingers dig deeper, twisting, spreading the torn muscle apart like I’m peeling open a rotten fruit. His flesh gives way, wet and slick beneath my nails.

The knife clatters from his grip.

I don’t hesitate. I throw all of my weight backward, sending us both careening to the ground. The impact rattles through me, my ribs slamming against his chest, but there’s no time to recover. Cole is fast.

His arm snakes around my throat in a vice grip.

The air vanishes from my lungs.

No. No. No.

Panic explodes inside me as he squeezes, his entire body pressing down, suffocating me beneath his weight. I flail, my fingers clawing at the cold, unforgiving earth, desperate to find something, anything, to anchor me. My vision flickers, dark spots forming at the edges.

“You little fucking bitch,” he snarls, his voice strained, enraged, manic. Blood vessels burst in my eyes from the pressure, pain splintering through my skull.

“I will savor killing you,” he hisses, his breath hot against my temple. His free hand gropes blindly, searching.

Something cold brushes against my fingertips.

A knife. His knife.

My fingers fumble, shaking, slipping against the razor-sharp edge. A sting. Blood beads on my skin as I clutch the hilt.

“I will do what I please with your body after you’re dead,” he spits.

My lungs burn. My head is swimming. Blackness crawls in from the edges, licking at my consciousness.

---